


With Him I Will Stay

by abovethesmokestacks



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 'cause I cried writing this, (it's probably incorrectly described either way, Angst, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Character Death, F/M, I mean a truckload of it, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Reader Has Powers, did I mention the angst?, has violence and injury in it but nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6869986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovethesmokestacks/pseuds/abovethesmokestacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They know what you can do, the way you can pull and manipulate memories, yours and others’.<br/>”We’ve tried for a year,” Blue Eyes tells you.<br/>”The conditioning goes deep,” Brown Eyes fills in. ”We cannot be sure just how much is left.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Him I Will Stay

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic-fooray into the Marvel fandom, and initially posted to my tumblr. It's quite possibly the angstiest thing I've ever written, so well, be prepared. Contains spoilers for Civil War, so proceed at your own risk if you haven't yet watched the movie.
> 
> For the ultimate feels-experience, consider listening to these before/while reading:  
> Zayn Malik - Pillow Talk  
> John Fullbright - She Knows  
> Of Monster and Men - Thousand Eyes  
> The Mendoza Line - Lethal Temptress

”Bucky!”

Your voice cracked as the hand around your throat tightened, cutting off your breath. Futilely, you reached out, hands searching for him, but clawing at nothing but air. Your eyes prickled with tears as you searched for him, a familiar face in a veritable shitstorm of chaos, trying to push through and find him.

_You never quite figure out how they found you. It’s not as if you’ve gone online to advertise your skillset, all too happy to work in silence. One day it was life as you knew it; working the night shift at the town retirement home’s dementia ward, breakfast for dinner once a week, a bottle of white every now and again, not sure what to do with yourself._

_A man and a woman, you remember thinking they looked both unassuming and so familiar, walking in as you coaxed one of the elderly ladies of the ward to remember her first bike ride. One final happy moment before moving on. She passed while you talked to the strangers, and you refused and refused and refused, and yet somehow you found yourself following them._

They knew to stay away from you, from the clawing hands that ever searched for purchase. They knew you needed a firm grasp to gain control, but right now, you’d settle for a scratch, a punch, something to ease the pressure on your windpipe. Your breaths, fast and shallow, seemed to thunder through the air, and you stopped trying to call for Bucky. He couldn’t hear you, wherever he was.

_”You can’t be serious!”  
_

_The two men in front of you, tall and regal in such different ways, blanch at your outburst. They know what you can do, the way you can pull and manipulate memories, yours and others’. Their kind eyes, warm brown and soft blue, plead silently with you. Behind you a stasis chamber, fogged up, its cold radiating and causing the hairs at the nape of your neck to stand on end._

_”We’ve tried for a year,” Blue Eyes tells you._

_”The conditioning goes deep,” Brown Eyes fills in. ”We cannot be sure just how much is left.”_

_You turn around, peers at the form just visible through the fogged up glass. He looks peaceful._  
\- - -  
_He hasn’t said a word. From the moment they brought him back from the brink of icy death, through your timid introduction and stumbling explanation of what you were about to do, he’s simply been observing you, his eyes steely and sharp like the ice that held him. You raise your right hand, slowly bringing it closer to his face, and despite seeing it coming, Bucky Barnes flinches away from it, his metal arm (his second one you find out in the weeks that follow) coming up to block you._

_”It’s not gonna hurt,” you tell him, voice steady and disarming smile in place. At least this is somewhat familiar._

_Bucky hesitantly lowers his arm, but his eyes are trained on your hand. Your fingers touch his cheek, his stubble tickling the pads of your fingers. There’s not really a set pattern, a specific spot. Everything is trial and error, slow and methodical movements until you find your way in. You said it wouldn’t hurt, but you can’t help your heart breaking when you see what his mind has been turned into. You’re used to the mind of dementia patients, where the memories exist in their entirety, buried or half-buried under the heavy illness._

  


_This is all shattered. Fractions and splinters. Some have been tenuously put together, but still ever so broken, forced to the ground under something that you’ve never encountered, insistent and intimidating with cracks running through it._

_It’s a miracle he has pieced together anything._

The grip on your throat loosened infinitesimally, allowing fresh air into your lungs. You gathered your strength, prying at the fingers around your throat while cursing silently at yourself. What the hell were you even doing here? You weren’t an Avenger, not truly. You could barely throw a punch, much as Bucky and the others had tried to teach you. You were a glorified assistant, who in that moment couldn’t remember why she had ended up here. Hell, the two of you were supposed to be backup, for god’s sake! There was no real tactical training you could fall back on, and even if you’d had it, you doubted you could make much use of it. ”Lousy under pressure,” you’d said over and over whenever someone had tried to suggest a new job for you. The night shift at the retirement home was enough. Now that life seemed so far away, like that was someone else’s reality, a memory you had picked up and just inserted yourself into.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your body. Your hands dropped to your stomach, to the hand that slowly pushed a knife into your stomach. For a fraction of a second, the entire world fell silent.

_Hours upon hours, picking at the debris, trying to fit together pieces to a whole. It’s like a puzzle, without uniform shapes, without the advantage of frame pieces, seemingly without end. He looks tired most of the days, and it’s not only from the sessions with you. As soon as you describe the strange sensation of a cracked surface, the man with the brown eyes, the ruler of the country you’re in, told you it was the conditioning, still strong enough to potentially cause trouble, but weak enough to let Bucky find fragments of memories. They start up the attempts to break down the conditioning again, it takes its toll on him. Two months in you can feel the frazzled nerves like a shuddering presence as you delve into his mind, and you let go almost immediately._

_”What’s wrong?” he asks, scanning your face for signs of problems._

_Your hand is still resting on his cheek, you can feel the muscles of his jaw tensing in apprehension._

_”Nothing,” you smile, grabbing his metal hand, pulling him up from the couch you’ve been sitting on. ”Come on.”_

_”What- Where are we going?”_

_”An adventure.”_

Reality crashed through as the knife is twisted inside you. Time restarted, with adrenaline rushing through your veins. Think, think, think! you berated yourself. You had the advantage of memory, the clarity of thought. For fuck’s sake, you were the girl who never forgot anything. Fighting. Images of sparring with Bucky and Captain Rogers flashed before your mind’s eye. Untrained, so conserve strength, deliver one good blow instead of wasting energy on weak punches. Quality over quantity. Not possible. Your reach was too short to get at their head, and the body armor would easily stand any hit you could muster, you would only be drained of blood and energy. Weapons. You had reluctantly accepted a small pistol, hidden in an ankle holster on your right leg. You were by no means a good shot, and odds were you wouldn’t be able to reach it without grabbing your assailant’s attention. You had to get loose. The grip on your throat, while allowing you to breathe, was still tight enough that you couldn’t fight your way out of it without losing precious life force.

You already were. You almost didn’t notice it happen, but then again, you’d never been stabbed before. The strength in your limbs slowly started to fade, the adrenaline rush diminishing. You wouldn’t be able to fight, not physically. All you had was your ability. Mustering what energy you still had, you began fumbling with the sleeve of the arm that held the knife steady inside you. Your powers worked best on a larger surface, people’s faces had been a natural choice, but it wasn’t impossible to find a connection elsewhere. It was frustrating, how on earth could a pair of sleeve cuffs fit so tightly? Finally, you managed to fit your index finger under the velcro strap, ripping it outwards. The sound of the tiny hooks of the material giving way was almost enough to make you cry. Swiftly, you jammed your hand inside the sleeve, gripping the arm there tightly and focusing your mind.

”Come on, come on, come on…”

Two gasps. Enter.

_Rain drops against an umbrella, but you run ahead, the downpour creating Pollock-esque patterns on your red dress, ultimately colouring it several shades darker as you refuse to get back under the sheltering canopy. The first smile you ever saw. Pushing damp hair behind ears._

_Walking through neighbourhoods that no longer exist as they once did, slowly finding familiar places. A lot of them involve fights. Some involve girls. All of them are a wonder to your eyes and a balm for his soul._

_Loud, indistinct fighting. Trying to convince people to let you try. Everyone is saying no, and you stalk out, fuming. They brought you in, why won’t they damn well let you help?  
_

_Nightmares, nights spent awake, nights that never end. The first touch of lips against lips._

_Whispering his name reverently into the darkness, feeling him close._

You hit the ground with a thud. Instinctively, you started kicking your legs, shuffling backwards as pain sparked through you when the knife shifted again. Your head spun, but all through it, you fought to keep focus. Hands fumbling, you reached for the gun strapped to your ankle, fingers tripping over the safety. Point and shoot, it had been surprisingly easy to learn. Accuracy was another matter. Your heart breaking yet another. Panting, you brought your arms up, gun aimed at the man before you. There was hate in his eyes, but he stood frozen in front of you.

”Bucky, please,” you pleaded, tears streaming down your eyes. ”I know you’re there.”

His name still bounced off of him, and you sniffled, struggling to keep your hands and aim steady. It had been worth a try. Attempting to find the partially reconstructed pieces locked away under the conditioning would have been impossible, so you’d tried to bombard him with memories from your time together, the kind HYDRA wouldn’t have been able to tear to pieces. But as seconds ticked by without anything, not a single flicker of recognition in his eyes, you lost hope. When he finally unfroze, it was the Winter Soldier that started stalking toward you.

_It’s too neat to be coincidental. Neither of you had any business being out in the field, yet somehow you were. It was supposed to be easy, for everyone involved. Small cell, nothing major. Captain Rogers and the others would take point, Bucky would stay behind guarding their exit strategy and provide backup if necessary. How the hell you ended up following is a mystery. You feel out of place in a bullet proof vest, and the gun strapped to your ankle throws off your walk, always brushing up against your left leg. Bucky’s tense, his eyes surveying the perimeter. You want to talk, to cut through the heavy atmosphere. The enemy ends up doing it for you. Comms break off into static, shots fire and seconds later Bucky’s pinned down, his arms weighed down against the vibranium-rich Wakandan ground. They come crawling out of the woodwork, surrounding you in efficient, methodical moves, restraining you. Their commander breaks through the circle, a malicious smile playing on his thin lips. Something in Bucky’s eyes sparks, and he starts fighting against his restraints._

_”Zhelaniye. Rzhavyy. Semnadtsat’.”_

_A guttural scream erupts from Bucky’s throat, and although he has been loathe to talk about anything related to HYDRA, you just know what’s going to happen. You call his name, trying to shout louder than the commander. A vicious backhand blow hits your face, effectively silencing you._

_”Devyat’. Dobroserdetchnyy.”_

_”Run!” Bucky yells at you, thrashing on the ground, the restraint holding down his left arm creaking alarmingly._

_A pair of arms come down to hold you steady, forcing you to witness the transformation._

_”Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu. Odin.”_

_Tears brimming, you can do nothing but hope he’s strong enough to fight._

_”Gruzovoy vagon.”_

_His body stills as if on cue, the heaving of his chest the only sign that he’s still alive. The commander waves his hand, and you’re released, the soldiers filing off back into the forest, leaving the three of you alone. From his pocket, the commander picks up a small remote control, clicks it twice and the blocks holding Bucky down let out a whir before being tossed away as the man you have befriended and fallen in love with rises from the ground. You seek eye contact, but there is nothing in his eyes, no life, no love, no memories. His order to you echo in your mind, and you take off running._

_You just should have done it sooner._

_Ten seconds later, a steel fist grabs hold of your vest, turning you around and locking you in a tight grip by the throat._

”Please, please, please,” you cried, the gun barely holding still as your grip faltered. ”Don’t make me do this…”

He hasn’t made any move yet to grab the gun strapped to his hip, but your eyes flickered between his face and his hand, fighting the ever-growing fatigue that’s spreading like a plague through your body. You wanted to ask why, but as the Winter Soldier came to a halt and kneeled before you, cocking his head with a curious look in his eye, the answer presented itself.

Someone had found out about you. About the attempts to break Bucky out of HYDRA’s hold. Maybe they hadn’t counted on you following him into the fight, but when you did, of course it was natural to take out the one obstacle that could stand between Bucky and the enemy. You were going to die, and Bucky would be forced to carry out orders he would kill himself over if they ever got him back. You looked at him again. His face showed no emotion past the curious glint in his eyes, as if trying to make sense of you. Once you were dead, he’d move on, ruthless and efficient, taking out the small team fighting just beyond the forest.

But you weren’t dead yet.

You didn’t want to kill him, but maybe a shot could shake him out of it. His body armour covered his torso, but his right shoulder was just a few feet away, and if you were quick, if you didn’t think too much about it, you could do it. It was, and you couldn’t get over the fact that you had time for a pun in the middle of this shitstorm, worth a shot.

  


Point and shoot.

You squeezed your eyes shut, and the sound of the gun discharge ripped through the air, setting off a ringing in your ear that you could barely hear through. Vaguely, you felt the gun finally slipping from your hands, and you slowly forced your eyes open. Still kneeling in front of you, the Winter Soldier clutched his right shoulder, looking more shell shocked than you’d ever seen him, almost as if he had genuinely thought you’d never shoot. You called out his name, the sounds so muffled under the intense ringing.

_There._  


Miraculously, something flickered in his eyes, and you could practically see his world crashing. The Winter Soldier was forced away, while your soldier fought his way back. His injury hit him full force, and when his eyes finally found you, the glance only lasted a moment before he fell to the ground beside you.

”Bucky? Bucky!”

It was a look of sheer terror, of realization that his hands had done this. Against better judgment, you pulled out the knife, knowing that it would in all probability speed up your demise, but in that moment all you could think about was how much of a nuisance it was, and how it hindered your movements. A secondary adrenaline rush, albeit weaker than the first, reinvigorated you, and you dragged yourself to his side, tears streaming freely as you pushed Bucky over on his back. His breaths were short and shallow, mirroring your own. There was a red patch blooming from the gun shot wound in his shoulder, and you had seen enough hospital dramas to at least attempt to save him. Struggling to keep your focus, you pressed your hands against the wound, a sob racking you when he turned his head and you finally saw him in the steel blue of his eyes.

”You’re gonna be okay, Bucky,” you promised him, trying to sound brave and sure. ”Everything’s gonna be okay. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

His left hand came up, and gently but insistently pulled away your hands. You tried to force them back, but there was no fighting against the firm grip of his metal hand. Instead, he brought them up to his face, placing them over his cheeks, looking pleadingly at you. Blinking away a fresh wave of tears, you relented. It would end as it began. The memory came soaring towards you, enveloping you like a warm blanket.

_Big band music playing, people milling about. You’ve seen this before in faded pictures. Reality is so much more vibrant. You catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror to the left, and it takes a few seconds to recognize yourself. You never really take part, you’re just an observer, yet there you are, a beautiful red frock clinging flatteringly to your figure, hair done up in curls, eyes accented by thick eyeliner and lips full and red._

_”May I have this dance?”_

_Spinning around, you gasp at him. He’s never looked so at ease. Gone is the metal arm, the body armour, the long hair. He’s dressed up in military uniform, hair short and combed back , his features unmarred by the nightmares he lived through. You only manage a quiet nod, taking his outstreched hand, letting Bucky lead you out onto a packed dance floor. The band plays an upbeat swing, but you sway slowly, holding onto each other._

_”I’m sorry,” you tell him, face leaning against his warm chest._

_”I know, doll.”_

_”I just- I tried…”_

_He hushes you silent, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. ”It’s better this way. I miss this. The dances, the music, my best gal on my arm.”_

_You hold onto each other, continuing your slow sway to the music. The world slows down with you, the sounds slowly fading to a dull static in the back of your mind. Two fingers under your chin, and Bucky gently tilts your face up to his._

_”Time to face the music, doll.”_

_”I don’t want to leave you.”_

_His smile is reassuring, the hand resting on your back pulling you a bit tighter._

_”As if they could keep us apart.”_

_He dips down, capturing your lips in a kiss as light embraces you. Weightless. Happy. Together._

_Finally._

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments always welcome! ^_^


End file.
